Post Job Celebration
by DisappearingKangaroo
Summary: Yet another tag to The Carnival Job, because Eliot needs some comfort. No slash. ONE-SHOT


**A/N:** Hey all you wonderful people! I know I'm about a half a decade late to this fandom, but you know, better late then never, right? Anyway, I know there's a whole lot of tags for The Carnival Job, but seriously, my wonderful hitter needed some comfort!

 **Disclaimer: Characters not owned by me (sad face)**

 **Warning: Contains no actual celebration that the title states**

 **Dedicated to my wonderful JohnLockSher**

Merely hours have passed since Eliot took a beating from the Russian mob, and a carnival ride, of all things.

The hood of Eliot's dingy jacket covers a rather large bruise on the side of his head, only one of the many injuries sustained from the past job, that he would really rather not remember, at least for the time being.

He sits, along with the rest of the team, in their booth at McRory's, all 'celebrating' the completion of a job. It's almost become a ritual for the team.

But this time it doesn't feel like much of a celebration. Perhaps that's because the only thing Eliot can currently feel is the radiating waves of pain starting at his skull and going all of the way down to his toes.

Nate is chugging down shot after shot, normal enough, but everyone else keeps giving him worried looks. And if the hitter was being completely honest with himself, between the doses of amber liquid Nate is also stealing looks. A few more minutes of this, and Eliot's gonna start throwing punches. When will they learn that it's - quite literally - his job to get hit and take the damage?

As Eliot opens his mouth to yell at his team, Hardison speaks first. "Hey man, you really should've let us get you to a hospital."

The hitter looks up with defeated eyes and mutters, "I hired a nurse." Not completely a lie. Well, no actually, definitely a lie.

"Ah, that-a-boy!" Parker happily says, punching Eliot in the shoulder. However lightly she does it, it still sends sparks of pain through his arm.

Being sandwiched between Parker and Hardison, Eliot makes no move to get up, no matter how much he wants to. Eventually though, he realizes that the team has gone completely silent. Looking up from previously staring at the table, Eliot sees his - dare he say it - friends looking back at him, all with concerned looks.

"Alright," Nate announces, far too loud for the injured man's ears, "We're all going up stairs. I'll close up shop and meet with you."

Excited as ever, Parker giggles, "Field trip!", and slides out of the booth.

Opposite of her tone, the hitter mutters, "That's not necessary. I'm a grown man. I can take care of myself."

"Oh Eliot," Sophie croons, "Let us help you. It doesn't even look like you can get on your feet and stay there." Backing up her point, she holds out a hand for the hitter to take.

Eliot follows suit of sliding out of the booth (just a far bit more painful), and gives a glare at Sophie's hand that says, "Touch me and you will die."

With nervous glances toward one particular man, they all file into the elevator. Parker leads, and Hardison staying a few steps behind Eliot, looking almost scared. The three people of the uninjured population all hold their breaths as the elevator goes up, convinced that the hitter will pass out. But, to Eliot's credit, he doesn't.

Instead, he passes out after taking one step in the apartment.

 ***Maybe a few hours later?***

When Eliot wakes, it's to the throbbing of his head. But not a second later the throbbing spreads to every limb, and somehow fourteen of his twelve ribs. That's what it feels like, anyway. The hitter grimaces when he feels a few pokes to his shoulder, knowing where those came from. When the pokes continue, he finally opens his eyes to see a small thief staring down at him.

"Parker," Eliot, groans, attempting to shift away from her constant fidgeting.

"He's alive!" Parker happily announces, making the hitter wince and turn away from her.

Coming from somewhere in his peripheral vision Sophie says, "Parker, why don't you give Eliot some space?" It may be phrased as a question, but the team knows that it's just shy of being a demand.

Now with some free space, Eliot accounts for his injuries. His mid-section is all wrapped up, as well as his right ankle, which frankly, he had forgotten about. Going further up his body, the knuckles on his right hand feel covered, along with fresh bandages about his arm. It's also stabilized against his body, which doesn't surprise the man. And finally, the hitter's head has a few bandages around it, but not as many as predicted.

Seeing Nate come up next to him, Eliot asks, "What's the time?", though it ends up sounding something more like, "Whhhhats thhe tme?"

Nevertheless, Nate understands and answers, "Just after midnight. Sorry about… This," He says, motioning to Parker and Sophie, still a bit too close to the hitter. "Concussion check." The mastermind adds with a fake smile.

Grimacing, Eliot tries to push himself into a seated position, but fails halfway. He tells himself that it's because he's tired, not because he's really hurt that bad. He has to be able to take care of his team, and if he can't sit up, there's no way he'll be able to do that.

The mastermind, seeing the struggle, swoops in and helps him up the rest of the way. When Eliot's _less tired_ (not healed, because he's certainly not hurt), he's going to have a talk with the team about how he's supposed to be the one taking care of them, not the other way around.

"Want some pain killers?"

Eliot deliberates about either being in less pain and admitting he's hurt, or declining the pain killers and be in immense pain. He eventually settles on nodding "yes", not trusting his voice.

"Parker-" Nate starts before he's interrupted.

"On it! Middle shelf of the bathroom!" The young thief says, already scurrying away. She's not fooling anyone with her happy-go-lucky words, the team all knows that she's just hiding her concern. Just like the way Nate drinks, Sophie's passive-aggressive conversations, and Hardison's constant nerdy references.

Finally sitting upright gives Eliot the chance to see his surroundings, which will certainly soothe him. Not surprisingly, he's still in Nate's apartment. He sits on the large sofa in the living space, making him feel exposed on all sides. Gingerly he turns his head, just to make sure that no threats hide in the dark.

Speaking of the darkness, his team has blessed him with a dark space, minus a few lamps. With his head already throbbing thanks to his severely concussed head, Eliot can't imagine what it would be like with the lights all on.

Parker then comes bounding down the stairs, bottles of pills rattling like maracas. "I've got them all!"

"Not so loud," Nate warns, taking the bottles from her.

"Oh, right. Concussion."

Nate shakes out a few pills and offers them with water to the incapacitated hitter. Worrying the older man, Eliot takes and downs them without question. Not the smartest choice, but he's hurting all over.

When handing back the glass, Eliot asks, "Hardison?" Not that he wants to see him or anything. It's just been unusually quiet, even with Parker. For a second he almost misses the hacker's constant and anxious jibber jabber.

With a shrug Nate just replies, "You know how squeamish he gets. He's out getting more bandages, and probably orange soda." Then, before Eliot can interject Nate adds, "You should probably get back to sleep. I'll wake you up in a few hours. Wouldn't want my favorite hitter to fall into a coma."

Eliot nods and lays back down, but honestly a coma doesn't sound too bad for him right now. His aching body certainly agrees.

Soon enough, Eliot's eyes flutter close, and his breathing evens out. Every so often there's a few unconscious pain filled groans but for a man this injured, he sleeps surprisingly well.

When he wakes for a second time it is again for a concussion check, but the process includes no poking this time.

If it is possible, Eliot feels even worse than a couple of hours ago. Displeasing him further, the rest of the team stares down at him like a lost puppy.

Growling in frustration, Eliot mutters, "Get outa my way.", and pulls himself into a seated position. No one says anything for a few moments, which the hitter takes as in invitation that he isn't wanted.

He loosely kicks off a blanket that was placed over him sometime while he was sleeping, and prepares himself to get up.

"Whoa, whoa, man. What do you think you're doing?" Hardison asks, now back at the apartment. He glances to the other members of the team, hoping that they feel the same way.

"Gettin' out of here." The hitter plainly states, mentally getting ready to head back to his apartment.

Sophie's calm voice cuts through the madness in Eliot's brain, "Well now, that's not a good idea. I think that we can all agree that you should stay here for at least the night. Right, everyone?"

Parker nods vigorously to the grifter's comment, eyes wide open.

Unfortunately, Eliot isn't in the mood to be taking anyone's shit. He knows when he's not needed, and right now he's just taking up space. "I'll be fine." The hitter says, even though he doesn't completely believe it. Really, he'll be fine if he gets back to his own place.

"Eliot, man, not at this time." Hardison pitches in, but still keeping his distance from the injured man.

As he sits up, Nate moves to push him back down, but is then greeted with an icy stare.

"At least let me drive you," Sophie offers. Eliot knows what she's doing though. As soon as he's trapped in a place with Sophie, she'll brainwash him into staying at Nate's for another night.

"Itsfine. I'll callacab. Where're my shoes?" The hitter asks, combining words that shouldn't be combined, worrying the team.

"Eliot," Nate starts, "Just wait a moment-" He's cut off my the hitter's glare, a fire in his eyes that none of them want to get close to.

Finally finding his discarded shoes, Eliot moves to stand up, before Nate gets the shoes for him and simply places them on the ground next to the hitter.

Just as Sophie's accusing "Nate!" echoes through the apartment Hardison also says, "Man, what the hell?"

Sighing, Nate just mutters, "He's going to go no matter what we say at this point. May as well make it as painless as possible."

If Eliot had a beer, he would definitely clink glasses to that.

The rest of the team looks almost mad now, but still doesn't do anything to stop the hitter, afraid of the consequences.

But when he leans down to put on his shoes, a pain filled moan finds it's way into the air, making everyone in the room wince. As if the pain meds previously administered did nothing, the hitter's ribs scream out at him.

Tired and disappointed in himself, the hitter resigns.

"Fuck this." He murmurs before laying back on the couch, arms wrapped around his waist. Then, glancing up to the other four members, he says, "Ground rules, no one wakes me up unless necessary. No loud noises, and no complaining from Hardison."

"Wh- man!" The hacker cries out, "Is that what you think I do all day?"

Keeping a smile from his face Eliot mutters, "Already failing. Now shut it. Don't even look at me." With that, he closes his eyes and gives his body a few minutes to fall into the black abyss of sleep.

For the first minute that the hitter sleeps, no one dares to even move, afraid that anything that they do will cause their friend to leave. Eventually though, they all disperse and let the hitter sleep in peace. Nate still looks over his alcohol filled glass with concerned stares, and Sophie still shakes her head at his stubbornness. Parker still watches him sleep not-so-secretly, but refrains from poking. And of course, Hardison can't help himself from watching the man sleep, not even bothering to try and be sneaky.

After all, it's no surprise that the team cares about each other.

Even if _some people_ still don't seem to realize it.

Oh well.

That day will come soon enough, won't it?

 **A/N Looks like you made it to the bottom, no? Well, if you liked it, go ahead and give it a review! It'll make me smile like an idiot in public, which is always good :)**


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